


Urgent Matters

by kylostahp (hawkeward)



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Desperation, Dubious Consent, I'd like to apologize to George Lucas and also Jesus, M/M, Omorashi, Watersports, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 09:04:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7164704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkeward/pseuds/kylostahp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hux enjoys pushing the limits of his self-control. Ren prefers to break them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Urgent Matters

**Author's Note:**

> This is [Brawlite](http://brawlite.tumblr.com)’s fault and I’m standing by that.

 

The routine had begun by accident. An irony, given its nature.

A sequence of sleep cycles particularly curtailed had driven Hux to a second cup of caf during breakfast, followed by a third as he reviewed reports at his desk. The diuretic effects of the drink made themselves known mid-morning, but Hux, engrossed in his work, had been reluctant to interrupt the flow of his progress for something as trivial as urination. A meeting with senior staff to discuss assignment rotations for transitioning Starkiller Base to its full complement of troops and technicians was scheduled for midday, and he’d built fifteen minutes into his schedule to prepare and depart for it—plenty of time to relieve himself.

Or it would have been, had an emergency summons not come from the bridge—the _Finalizer_ had received a distress signal from a supply convoy come under pirate attack, and Hux’s personal oversight was required for the response. By the time he had deployed a suitable force and handed bridge command back to Captain Pike, his comfortable scheduling cushion had evaporated. He had weighed his need to urinate against his tardiness, knowing that further loss of time would likely require the meeting to be rescheduled—translating into an unacceptable, however short, delay in the Starkiller project—and decided to endure.

Two torturous standard hours of administrative deliberation later, he had walked briskly from the conference room back to the tiny private ‘fresher attached to his office, where he experienced what had to have been the most blissful piss of his life.

The release was near-orgasmic, snapping his head back and pulling a groan from his mouth. He felt unburdened, as if he were floating—left weak-kneed by the high from something as simple as self-denial and eventual, measured concession. His breath came harsh and ragged as he stared wide-eyed at the ceiling, unnerved.

It should absolutely have stopped there. But the next few times he made routine use of the ‘fresher, he felt somehow... _unsatisfied_.

And that was how General Hux came to begin a private regimen of exercises intended to prove absolute mastery over his personal biological functions. Or, to put it crudely—he developed a habit of drinking down cup after cup of caf or water, then holding out as long as possible against the urge to piss, in anticipation of increasingly sweet relief.

He initially confined the routine to desk-work shifts spent in his office, a low-impact environment with the reassurance of the ‘fresher only a handful of steps away. But it didn’t take long for him to notice how the occasional interruption of paperwork delivery or a message relayed in person produced an elevated thrill—retaining the upright professionalism and composure of his station before a subordinate when a lesser man would be crumbling in shameful distress provided a heady rush of dark, secret satisfaction.

He began regularly walking circuits through the public corridors, taking his meals in the communal officers’ mess, attending minor meetings in person rather than receiving a summary after the fact—all with the addition of a liter or more of fluid inside him, lapping in eroding waves at the comfort of his control. Observing training exercises or addressing troops with his feet firmly braced apart and his hands clasped behind him even as his thighs and abdomen protested was a particularly exquisite challenge, savored more and more frequently as he grew bolder. Though his bridge duty remained sacrosanct, as did any shift during the _Finalizer’s_ occasional forays into spacelanes where combat was a possibility, he gradually came to consider any other time fair game for his habit.

Of course, in hindsight, it was probably inevitable that he would eventually find himself in a... _delicate_ situation—one of many reasons the entire indulgence should have ceased before it began. He had just concluded a tour of routine inspections, during which he had kept each officer sweating nervously at attention for long seconds before acknowledging them. The drag of each of those evaluating pauses had been nearly tangible, as he was so achingly _full_ he almost imagined his midsection to be visibly distended and trembling beneath the crisp lines of his uniform. Keeping his gait slow and precise as he returned to his office was a test in itself, and he allowed himself a small amount of pride for a difficult task overcome as he keyed open the door.

Only to find himself blocked from the ‘fresher and his anticipated relief by the looming form of Kylo Ren.

A sharp flush of panic surged through him as Ren’s black-and-chrome mask swiveled deliberately toward him like a dangerous beast sensing the approach of its prey. Ren came and went as he pleased without order or schedule, childish and demanding—and thanks to Snoke’s favor, he could command Hux’s attention all but indefinitely for no other reason than because it pleased his petulant nature to do so.

The last thing Hux wanted to deal with under the circumstances was whatever triviality Ren was there to berate him about, but unfortunately there was no dignified way to turn around and walk back out of your own office immediately after entering. He didn’t quite manage to keep the tight grimace of discomfort from his face as he fought the desire to fidget or shift from foot to foot like a child under the knight’s gaze. Hopefully the expression would pass for his usual annoyance at having to endure his presence at all.

“What is it, Ren?” he demanded, briskly removing his greatcoat and settling it on its hangar. He took a moment to ensure it hung properly, just to show how unconcerned he was by the knight’s appearance in his office. “I have urgent matters to attend to.”

“I can tell you do, General,” Ren replied. He made no move to leave, still looming between Hux and the ‘fresher. All hope Hux had of the intrusion being mercifully brief evaporated as Ren stalked across the office, closing the distance between them in only a few long-limbed strides until they were almost chest-to-chest.

Hux refused to give ground, staring defiantly into the glossy black visor. He did not allow his gaze to flick to the ‘fresher door for even a moment, even with the tension in his thighs and groin screaming for his attention. “Then let’s make this quick,” he said tersely, lifting his chin.

Ren said nothing, but his thick-gloved hand slowly came up between them, thumb and forefinger settling against the starched points of Hux’s collar. “Always so controlled,” he finally murmured, voice unusually soft through the mask’s vocal modulator. “So cold and rigid, I had thought you must not even be human. And yet here you are, positively _reeking_ of desperation.”

Hux swallowed, the muscles of his neck shifting against that large hand.

“Isn’t it amazing, how weak we all are?” Ren continued, pressing lightly into where the depressions of Hux’s collarbones lay beneath his uniform. “The lowliest trooper to the loftiest general—all the same when it comes to the most base impulses. We all have to eat, we all have to sleep, and we all... have to _piss.”_

Hux’s eyes widened in startled realization and he began to jerk away, but Ren was already moving. He seized Hux and spun him roughly, one arm snaking around his torso to pull his back flush against Ren’s broad chest. Hux’s wordless cry of surprise died as the knight’s other hand returned to cradle his throat, exerting just enough pressure to coax his body into arching back against him.

The knight held him there, stretched and trembling openly with the effort of controlling his straining bladder through the manhandling. The rush of shame and adrenaline from being discovered filled him with heat, coloring his cheeks and setting a thin film of sweat forming on his brow, but the body behind him somehow felt even hotter against his back. He could hear Ren’s fast, panting breaths, as well—hoarse and distorted by his mask—drowning out the sound of his own heaving lungs and his pulse hammering in his ears.

“Why?” Hux kept his voice as even as possible, hoping he didn’t sound as panicky as he felt. The word still came out humiliatingly close to a whimper.

A low, static-laced chuckle crackled beside his ear. “Because I can see your mind, General.”

Hux swallowed again under Ren’s grip on his throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ren replied with another laugh, his other hand sliding slowly down Hux’s torso. “Don’t be coy. I’ve _felt_ this dirty little game you play—denying yourself, longer and longer. Letting your need build up until you’re on the edge of squirming, just because you know the relief will be that much better when you’re finally allowed it.”

“When you do it in public—full of the knowledge that you’re one slip from everyone seeing what a filthy little boy you are, underneath all the pomp and polish—it’s _intoxicating_. The thought that someone might finally discover how _little_ control you truly have, how base and weak the general of the mighty First Order is? It lights up your mind like a landing beacon.”

Hux grimaced, his eyes squeezing shut. He clung to his resistance, denying the urge to shift, cross his legs, do _anything_ that might concede the truth in Ren’s words. The sensation in his gut and groin was no longer entirely the familiar desperation to urinate, but was mingled—terribly, humiliatingly, _abhorrently_ —with a different need.

“You _crave_ this, General, but that’s not why I’m doing it,” Ren continued, his hand sliding lower until it rested against Hux’s lower abdomen, directly over his swollen bladder. “I’m doing it because I _enjoy_ it.”

A slow grind of Ren’s hips punctuated the statement, and Hux’s eyes flew open again at the sudden press of his prominent erection, unmistakeable even through heavy robes. He nearly broke at that, thighs shaking, face completely aflame with embarrassment and arousal. The knight rocked against him more firmly, catching Hux in an inexorable vise between the insistent cock behind him and the unyielding hand in front, and he couldn’t help but groan.

“Let go, General,” Ren urged. His distorted voice was soft, dark with banked heat and hunger. Hux whined helplessly, head falling back onto the knight’s shoulder, burning cheek pressed to the cool metal of his helmet.

Ren’s hand stroked slowly up and down his bared throat, coaxing him to relax enough that his thighs loosened momentarily. A thin trickle, hot and shameful, leaked into his trousers before he could stop it, and it seemed every muscle in his body clenched in panicked response to prevent more from spilling. He trembled with the effort of holding back, no longer even cognizant of why he still clung so desperately to control.

“That’s it,” Ren murmured, more gently than should have been possible. “It’s all right, I’ve got you. Let go.”

Hux, absurdly, almost believed Ren truly meant the reassurance—but then the knight’s fingers dug viciously into his middle, as if he could reach through the layers of cloth and skin and flesh and simply _take_ Hux’s surrender.

He could, of course.

The last of Hux’s resolve was swept away by the rush of that casual power—there was nothing left in the galaxy but the squeeze of Ren’s hand against his abdomen and the raw, all-encompassing need to release the pressure built up within him. He wanted to laugh, but the only sound that escaped him was a broken thing, half groan and half keening sob. He let his eyes slide closed, body slackening like a drowning man finally exhausted by the waves.

Once begun, he couldn’t have stopped the flow if he tried. He was soaked instantly, torrents of his own hot piss darkening the charcoal fabric of his uniform, etching burning trails down his thighs, worming their way into and over his boots. It went on and on, a fat stream falling directly from the juncture of his trousers to splash against the polished floor and puddle under his feet, the strength of it too much to be contained.

If the first time had been blissful, this was _transcendent_. Hux’s eyes stung with the raw intensity of his relief, but no tears escaped—he was utterly, euphorically empty, nothing left within him to offer up, whether to himself or Ren or anyone. Only Ren’s firm touch anchored him to reality, or he might have simply floated away from the hollowed-out shell of his body. He felt a ridiculous urge to to twist his head and kiss the knight, mouth a slick path of saliva along the surface of his mask, wet and primal and filthy.

Ren’s hand had at some point abandoned his throat to stroke his cheek, his hair, petting soothingly as the stream subsided to a trickle and finally a few scattered drops. Hux was dimly aware that Ren was still speaking, a rising and falling current of meaningless praise— _yes, yes, let it all out, want to see you come undone, so beautiful, General, you’re being so good for me_ —and he slowly grasped the fact that he could no longer feel the stiff bulge of the knight’s cock, for all that his hips were still pressed flush against the curve of Hux’s ass. Ren must have come without a sound, soiling himself with a depraved release of his own. Hux swallowed thickly at that thought, a fresh surge of heat rolling through his body even as his soaked clothing cooled.

_“Perfect,”_ Ren murmured, voice finally trailing off as he threaded his gloved fingers through Hux’s hair a final time. He drew away slowly, his other hand lingering on Hux’s hip as if loath to relinquish all contact.

Hux didn’t dare turn to look at him. If he looked, he’d have to admit to himself that he was half-hard in his sodden, sagging trousers from being restrained until he was forced to soak himself in his own filth. He’d have to admit that, had Ren not come without his assistance, he would have dropped to his knees in the puddle he’d created and sucked him off. He’d have to admit that he wanted to do that next time. He’d have to admit that he _wanted_ a next time.

Instead, he stepped to his desk to check his terminal for notifications, ignoring the way his boots squished and squeaked damply against the floor. “If that’s all, Ren, you may go,” he said coolly, eyes on the screen.

He could _hear_ the smirk in Ren’s voice. “Of course, General. Urgent matters, after all.”

Hux didn’t look up until he heard the door slide shut. He would have to make his way back to his quarters, somehow. His coat, buttoned, would be able to cover the worst of the evidence. He’d summon a mindless cleaning droid to attend to the floor while he went for a shower, change into a fresh uniform and one of his spare pairs of boots, and by the time he returned to his office he’d be able to put the entire incident behind him. That would be the best course of action.

Bending back over his terminal to enter the cleaning order, his eyes landed on the tall tumbler of water that had become a constant fixture of his desk. It was still more than half full.

He grabbed the cup, cursing, and drank deeply.

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on [tumblr](http://kylostahp.tumblr.com) about which of these two would piss on the other's face.


End file.
